Deja Vieux
by Ellyndia McGovern III
Summary: Ellyndia can't let Snape's influence go...follows after 'A Visit to St. Mungo's' and "Confirmation"


Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recongnize.

Deja Vieux

Note: This occurs after the events in "A Visit to St. Mungo's" and "Confirmation." Please read those before reading this story. This one will make more sense.

The year is 2027.

"Did you see this?"  
My neighbor, Rachel Linde, handed me _The Daily Prophet_ as she took at bite of her biscuit.  
"You know I don't read that trash anymore," I said. Still, I took the paper from her hands and looked where she pointed: an ad for a lawyer service with a beaming man, about 25 or so years old. As he waved, he looked somewhat familiar...  
"That's the Peterson boy, isn't it Elly?"  
I looked again.  
"By Merlin, you're right!" I recongnized the bright smile of the boy who used to play with my son.  
"He looks a lot like Lockhart," Rachel said.  
I had to laugh. "He does, doesn't he?"  
Rachel started to laugh too. "That smile! Merlin, I wonder if John knows that."  
"Probably planned the association."  
"But--my god, that must have been 30 or so years ago! How many people are going to remember Lockhart?"  
"Maybe he is aiming his business toward older people."  
"Elly-- we're not old!" Even as Rachel said this, the sunlight broke through the clouds and flooded the kitchen, accentuating the wrinkles on her face.  
"Yes we are."  
"Oh, that's just your state of mind," she said, and took a sip of tea. "No really, Elly-- you start thinking like that and you wonder why your back hurts so often."  
"Look, my mother had a bad back, and my grandmother too. It runs in the family. It has nothing to do with my way of thinking."  
"But still...." Rachel stood up and went to the window, to look outside. I took a sip of coffee.  
"You know," said Rachel, "I'm going to Diagon Alley this afternoon. Want to come?"  
"No thanks," I said.  
"Aw, Elly, you're no fun." She continued to look outside. I turned my attention to the paper, where the smiling picture of John Peterson now was at his desk, still beaming all the way. He does look like Lockhart, I mused. That big toothy grin, that had my mother swooning every time she saw his face. It used to put me in hysterics.   
It's good though, that John found himself such a decent -paying job. I looked for an address to owl him, and something caught my eye outside the ad. In fact, it was a little paltry ad that The Daily Prophet runs for people who want to get rid on a spare Invisibility cloak, or a set of supposingly antique brass scales from the 17th century.  
This one, however, did not sell anything. It was quite unusual, I thought..very unusual indeed...

_Wanted: Information about the life of Severus A. Snape, former Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Will pay handsomely. Owl or inquire in person at The Daily Prophet, Diagon Alley, London._

His name....  
I read the ad again, then looked up at my neighbor, who was still at the window.  
"You know Rachel," I said, "I think I will go with you to Diagon Alley. I just remembered some business I have to take care of."  
"Well, glad to see you're not that antisocial," Rachel said, as she sat down and we continued our tea.

Diagon Alley was as crowded as it ever was. The Quidditch shop in particular drew a mighty crowd; I think it was the new Shooting Star 3000.  
"Merlin, I remember the old Shooting Stars," remarked Rachel as we walked by a group of children oggling one in a store window. "Slow and steady, but the smoothest ride I ever got on a broom."  
"How old do you feel now, Rachel?" I said, smiling.  
"Oh, be quiet."  
We walked for a bit down the street.  
"I wonder why they're bringing back the Shooting Star?" Rachel asked we pass a lady peddling her wares.  
"They're just remarketing the classics because they're new to today's kids--and they have all the money."  
"Sheesh." Rachel turned her head up to look at the blue sky. "Do you remember when we had to beg our parents to even get us a broom, and even then it was through hard work?"  
"Yes."  
"Those were the days."  
"Sometimes you act much older than I do, Rachel."  
We stopped at the crosswalk of four streets. The traffic was busy with a summer's crowd.  
"You wouldn't mind if I left you for a bit, would you Elly? I have a few things to do."  
"Oh that's fine. I can do my business as well."  
"We can meet up at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour."  
"That's fine."  
"See you later, Elly!" Rachel walked toward Gringotts and disappered from view. For a moment I was dazzled by the number of people in the street; and I felt suddenly very tiny, very miniscule, very weak.   
With a sudden surge of purpose, I started walking down the street back where we came from: toward the Daily Prophet.

It was utter and complete chaos: people were rushing in and out, quills were writing with the speed of the devil himself, and memos were flying around like little Muggle airplanes. Every once and awhile a shout would rise from the cubicles--someone would come running screaming or flying with newly-sprouted wings. I walked in and tried to find a desk or something where I could respond to the ad: but from what I could see, the only thing closest was the Welcome Desk.  
"Hello?" said a very bored secretary with a strong accent. She was chewing on gum and using her wand to mess with her hair.  
"I'm here to respond to the ad."  
"Which ad ma'am? We have ads for jobs, ads for items--"  
"The ad concerning Severus Snape."  
A chill ran down my spine. It was still odd saying his name. She removed her wand from her hair (which was now three different colors) and looked at me.  
"Oh, well you want Hermione on the Second Floor." She turned to her desk where a tube was. She waved her wand, and a pink piece of paper flew into the chute and out of sight.  
"She'll be expecting you. Go straight ahead--" she pointed with her wand, "Take a left. Take the elevator to the second floor, and follow the signs until you get to Herms' office. She usually in."  
"Thank you."  
She turned away and I started to walk toward the direction she indicated. It amazed me at the level of perofessional behavior that was now passable as appropriate in the workplace. I mean, she was chewing gum, playing with her wand as if it were a toy....  
_You should learn to live a little__!_ comes Rachel's phantasmal voice in my head. _You don't have fun! No wonder you're so..._  
Old? I looked into a the fountain right before the elevators. My face, though distorted by the waves of the water, looked  
(gaunt)  
(hard)  
(sallow)  
like a 48 year-old woman's face. _I'm not old, Rachel. I'm _cultured.  
I stood up and went to the elevators, almost smashing a few flying memos in the process as they flew around my head. As the doors closed I heard the secretary yell _"GEORGIE! YOU GET HERE THIS INSTANCE!"_  
When I got the the second floor, the mood struck me. Now things were much more demure, as wizard reporters talked quietly, crossed the hall, writing quills following them, noting whatever they said. I looked around for a sign and noticed the sign that said:

_Hermione Granger: Publicist : room 203_

That name....also seemed familiar. But unlike Professor Snape, whom I would have known at any instance, the Granger person did not associate any specific memories.  
I found the door and knocked, gently. Hermione came out, dressed in demure yet nice robes, matching the tone of the floor perfectly.  
"Yes?"  
"I'm inquiring as to your ad..."  
"Oh yes!" She ushered me in and closed the door. I noticed that her office was not hospital-clean, but still neat. As I sat down in a chair across her desk, I noticed too piles of books behind her desk, old tomes.  
"Well, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, offering her hand across the table. I shook it.  
"Ellyndia McGovern."  
"Well, thank you, Mrs. McGovern, for coming here. I am compiling a book called Hogwarts: A Recent History. If you're willing, I would ask you about your experiences with Professor Snape-"  
"Professor?"  
"Yes," she said, pointing her wand to a quill, which stood up and started to write. "He was a teacher at Hogwarts."  
"I know that," I said. But I thought--here is someone else who chooses to call him by the Professor epithet. I must not be that crazy.  
"What is it, Mrs. McGovern?"   
"It's just that....were you his student?"  
She blushed. "Yes, I was."  
Something stirred in the memory vaults in my mind...  
"Did you know Harry Potter?"  
"Yes." she said, and I could see suspicion rise to her face.  
And then it clicked.  
"I went to school with you and Harry."  
"You did? When did you graduate?"  
"1997."  
"So did I!"  
We stared at each other from across the desk, feeling the bounderies of time warp and meet; here was someone from my past I never even knew about.  
"But I don't remember you," she said, shaking her head. "What House-"  
"Slytherin."  
"_Ah._" she said. I could not help but feel this conversation was familiar.  
The quill continued to write. I looked at the quill, a bit suspisous that it was taking down all I said.._.I guess the Slytherin in me will never die._  
"So...what do you want to know?" I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms.  
"Well, we can start with your school experiences." A piece of parchment flew away from the table and another flew under the awaiting quill, waiting for me to speak.   
"He was my teacher from 1991 to 1997. I suppose I thought him like everyone else did-- a bit mean, cruel, cold, and favorable to his Slytherins." I stated. But for some reason, I stopped there. Why the resignation? Here's the chance-- to tell everyone what he was, what he represented to me, what he still after all these years represented to me...and yet I stopped.  
"That didn't mean he went around calling us by our first names, mind you," I continued. "Like he did with Draco Mafloy...No, Mafloy was his pet. Or he was Mafloy's pet-- I dunno."  
_You're babbling, _I thought._ Get to the point!_  
I cleared my throat delicately.  
"Umm..." Hermione seemed struck by what I said. It might have been my frankness. But she continued. "Okay, do you remember any specific memories with him?"  
The rush is strong, and for a moment his figure flashes before me, blocking out Hermione's figure...  
_Today he is lying on his back, arms out at right angles to his body. His forearms hang limp over the side of the bed, slightly blue, but still the same pale yellow I'd always known them to be. He is staring at the ceiling, dark pupils unfocused, staring at nothing, staring at the images playing before his eyes..._  
No.  
"Yes." I say slowly, quietly. "I mean," louder, this time, "In regard to what? During school, or..."  
Hermione sat up straighter in her chair. "You saw him? After Voldemort's fall?"   
Still, why was I limiting myself? A 48 year old woman still imposed by a memory? It was uncalled for, unheard of! Still... My hand found its way into my mouth, shocked a bit at my own...immaturity...thinking that all that has been said by those masterful writers about time healing all wounds were lying...  
I actually bit my forefinger as a tear came forth. I looked at a book on the floor: _Moste Potente Potions._  
Why must everything remind me of him!  
Disbelieving myself, I laughed.  
"What is it, Ellyndia?"  
_Oh so that's it._ I thought wildly. _We're on first name basis now? Let's just drop the professional behavior, shall we? Well, I suppose I can live with that. We're old friends, brought together again by fate...and I thought I served my tour of duty. Guess not. _   
I looked at Hermione, now excited. I could see what glittered in her eyes-- knowledge, the chance to learn, to put the puzzle together that is Professor Snape.  
"Well...It's a long story."  
She leaned toward me, and for a second I saw an eagerness that betrayed the girl that during school was known as the smartest.  
But I couldn't utter a word. I looked back into those eyes, so eager, like a puppy dog, to hear his teachings and principles, from someone who had heard his own words.  
"You mean that you don't know anything?" I asked. "Anything about...afterward?"  
"No. I only know what Harry told the papers right aftterward. He's been silent as far as I know. In fact," said Hermione, "I hadn't heard from him since we graduated-- and he hasn't come to any of the reunions." She leaned back in her chair, which squeaked unnervingly in the quiet room.  
I guess I had misinterpreted Potter. _Last time I give credit to a Gyffindor._  
"I have barely any information about him afterwards," she said. "Former students have come in, even had one of his cousins or something come in, _that_ was an interesting conversation...But after Voldemort fell, nothing. Let's face it, to the rest of the world he fell of the face of the planet. Even his mom, who sent an owl, didn't know where he was. In fact, she thought he died in 1980. You mean Harry knew all this time and didn't tell?" she asked.  
"Well, it's been 25 years and I hadn't heard anything," I said, with some indignation.  
She sat back and humphed quietly.  
I was tempted -- ever so tempted -- to hunt Potter down and get him to spill his guts out about Professor Snape to the world. They had to know--they had to...He didn't deserve this...  
I looked at Hermione with a sudden furvor and urge. She sat foward a bit, the chair responding with a little squeak. I became very businesslike, lowering my tone and dispensing with the emotion-crap. My Slytherin tendencies came all-too-easy these days.  
"I swore," I started, "25 years ago, that I would not tell people about...his life after Voldemort fell. I did not want my name dragged into his affair, because all he was to me was a teacher. I had thought that Potter would realize his responsibility beforehand and revealed the true identity of what the papers called the "dark stranger" that saved him. But, it has been 25 years, and seeing as Potter has not made a move to inform the world of the truth, I am forced to share this information. Before I start, though, I have three conditions."  
"What are they?" Hermione said. Her wrinkles and sags were sweeping away with the influence of eager child-like desire to please.  
"One-" I held up my index finger. "You shall include my name, Ellyndia McGovern the third, in your book as the source of this information. Two-" I added my middle finger. "You shall say that I was the only one who was devoted to him after he fought Voldemort, up until his real death in 2002."  
She was nodding, writing something and the magic quill racing across a page. I held up a third finger.  
"Three. You shall make note that Harry Potter, when given the chance to divulge the information, did not take the opprotunity, due to his own, unfathomable reasons."  
She looked up.  
"I don't know if I can do that, Ellyndia."  
"You will, " I said, plainly, "or else I leave."  
Professor Snape would be proud, I thought. I have her wrapped around my little finger. She won't dare back down..she wants this too bad. She'll throw aside her childhood friend to get her story-- to satisfy herself.  
"Fine."  
"Then you better get more paper, " I said, as the last sheet flew off the desk into the pile. The quill, not sensing anymore paper, stopped and fell over, inanimate. She reached for a stack, charmed another quill. I leaned an arm on the armrest of the chair and spoke.

So I told her. Every word. About seeing him for 5 years, locked in the Closed Ward. About how he confessed his last deed. This was odd for me, at least. I never told anyone about what I did, not even my late husband. When I came to the part about Harry, she gasped.  
"But--"  
I held up a hand. "Let me finish, please, and then ask me questions."  
She shut her mouth and I continued. She sat as if I was a mere storyteller, or one of his disciples, spreading the Word of (Professor) Snape.   
When I was done, there was a stunned silence. The quill still stood ready, until Hermione (with some effort) took off its charm and it fell quietly to the desk.  
"Any questions?" I asked.  
She merely nodded her head no. I hoped she would not ask me for my feelings; for in my report I had kept myself out of the picture as much as possible. I didn't tell her what I felt, for instance, as I saw him fight his inner phantasmal pain...  
"I never knew," she was able to mutter, still looking bewildered.  
Suddenly I was angry -- not relieved at finally gotten this off my chest -- but angry at them, angry at them all.  
"Of course not." I said, as I stood up. "Look, I don't care whether you believe me or not -- just tell the world the truth."  
I was at the door when Hermione stood up, and started to dig something out of her desk.  
"Wait! What about your payment?"  
I looked back at her.  
"This is payment enough."   
Then I left her sight, closing the door behind me.

"Did you get what you wanted to get done?"   
"Yes. You?"  
"Yes." I took a sip of coffee as Rachel plowed through a sundae. We were at Florean Fortescue's, where we had agreed to meet.  
"What's wrong, Elly? Something go wrong?"  
"No," I said, and could not help but feel I broke a promise -- that for a moment I had forgotten who I was protecting and indulged in my own selfish needs.  
My own words float back to me in the sea of time...it is a younger voice, one newly tinged with tragedy...  
_"...And because of the effort I saw him take to say it, I think he wanted people to know. Whether you choose to tell people or not, I don't care. But I don't think Professor Snape would have told me if he didn't want the truth known."_  
"Penny for your thoughts."  
"What?"  
"Penny for your thoughts. What's up?" asked Rachel.  
Oh Rachel, you're right. I am old.  
"You'll find out soon," I replied.  
"What? What will I find out? Come on, tell me!"  
I could not help but smile at her child-like behavior. Even as I smiled a few years slid off, and it seemed the pain in my back lessened a bit.  
"Soon."  
"Oh Elly!"  
"Wait, my dear. All your questions shall be answered soon...."  
THE END

Any feedback? What was still creepy? What was so stupid? What just doesn't make sense? Any part you like? Email me at mssnape_34@yahoo.com.

"Deja Vieux" literally means "Already old". It is a play on the phrase "Deja Vu",or "already seen". Rachel Linde is the name of Martha Cuthbert's nosy neighbor in the Anne of Green Gables series.


End file.
